


Coincidental Love

by deavors



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deavors/pseuds/deavors
Summary: Bob never thought he'd fall for a sniveling twerp like Bernie Kropp. And Bernie Kropp never thought he'd fall for a slow-witted buffoon like Bob. But love doesn't always make sense...





	Coincidental Love

The tall, bulky form of Bob Parr lumbered down the dim hallway at the elementary school, exhaling in exhaustion. Distantly, he could hear the rowdy sounds of kids playing outside at recess; the energetic shouts and whoops just made him even more tired. He’d been up all night with Jack-Jack, who’d caught some fever or another, and now Helen had the fever too—and so, when the sniffling, sneezing Helen got the phone call that their eldest son Dash was in the principal’s office for the fourth time that month, it fell to Bob to take an hour’s leave from the office and come down and sort out the problem.

Bob’s hand closed around the golden doorknob of the door to the principal’s office. He was very careful to be gentle; when Bob forgot his own strength, doorknobs—and many other surfaces—tended to get mangled. He opened the door with a quiet squeak and entered the office, taking a small glance around. A wooden desk with two chairs in front, and three windows on the wall to Bob’s left. Behind the desk sat the stern-looking principal; on one of the two chairs sat Bob’s ten-year-old son, Dash Parr; beside the principal stood a man Bob didn’t recognize. He was probably around Bob’s age, skinny, with thinning auburn hair, a mustache to match, and round wire glasses. His eyes were wide with suspicion and paranoia, and the look on his face instantly made Bob uneasy.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parr,” the principal said, not without warmth, as Bob entered the room.

Dash quickly glanced at his father, then turned right back around, not wanting to meet his gaze.

“Uh, good afternoon,” parroted Bob. “Can I sit, or…?”

“No, go right ahead, sit.”

The auburn-haired man didn’t introduce himself or speak as Bob pulled out the chair beside his son and sat. “I understand my son has broken some sort of rule?” the father asked hesitantly, wishing that Helen were here. It was always Helen who dealt with this sort of stuff. But Bob supposed he’d just make a bunch of promises to the principal that it’d never happen again, and they’d be set.

The principal opened his mouth to speak, but the auburn-haired man interrupted. “He puts thumbtacks on my stool,” the man said, eye twitching.

Bob was silent for a few seconds, then laughed. “Thumbtacks! Heh. I remember when I was a kid Dash’s age, oh, thirty years ago. We’d do all kinds of stuff like that, just harmless little pranks…”

He went silent, uncomfortably shifting in his chair, as he realized that this was _not_ the answer the adults in the room wanted to hear.

The principal awkwardly said, “Yes, we all have fond memories of our school days, Mr. Parr. But your son—”

“He’s a terrible influence on his peers,” the teacher interrupted yet again, glaring at Dash. “Never sits still, never does his work, can’t concentrate. He’s consistently rude and disrespectful, and he makes me look like an idiot in front of the class.”

“Well, with all due respect,” Bob protested, while still trying to be calm and diplomatic, “kids can be hyperactive sometimes. It’s just how they are.”

“And plus I didn’t even _do_ anything…” Dash muttered under his breath.

“Liar!” the teacher shouted.

The principal placed a placating hand on his arm, wincing in embarrassment. “Uh, Bernie…”

Bernie shoved his hand away. “No, look, I’m not gonna stand for this anymore! I know the law says we’ve gotta be nice to the brats, but there’s a line that can be crossed, and this kid—” He pointed a shaking, bony finger at Dash. “—has crossed it a thousand times!”

By now Bob was scowling, angry at the idea that this clearly-unstable man is apparently the teacher in charge of his son. “Hey, in my opinion, there’s a line of professionalism that can be crossed, too, and you’ve just crossed it,” he said firmly. “Shouting at a kid like that?”

The auburn-headed teacher stared daggers at him. “Hey, all due respect to _you_ , Mr. Parr, but if you were in charge of this kid all day, you’d be losing your mind.”

“He’s my son,” said Bob, voice growing louder with anger, unconsciously leaning forward in his chair. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you—”

The principal cleared his throat. “Er, Bernie, Mr. Parr. I think we’re letting our emotions get the best of us today,” he said delicately. “The issue here isn’t one to be minimized… _or_ maximized.” He gave Bernie a pointed look. “Dash’s behavior isn’t the end of the world, but it’s not ideal, either. I understand that, like most kids his age, he may have some energy to burn. Mr. Parr, I want to encourage you to sign your son up for track meets, or perhaps swimming. He’s passionate about athletics, and I think that might be a great outlet for him to express creativity and burn energy without harming or embarrassing anyone, least of all his teachers.”

“Uh.” Bob shifted in his seat, unsure of what to say. If it were up to him, he’d have agreed in a second, but Helen didn’t want Dash involved in sports—for reasons Bob could at least partially understand—and he wasn’t about to make a rash decision behind her back. “Thanks for your suggestion. We’ll consider it.”

“Please do. Dash, I’ve got to warn you, one more visit to my office this month will mean a suspension. It’s just school policy.”

Dash muttered a near-incomprehensible acknowledgment and fled from the room without another glance at his dad. Bob was worried for his son, for his hyperactive nerves and his lack of an outlet to help calm them, but there wasn’t much that could be done now. When he got home, he’d talk to Helen. She always knew what to do about this. When it came to parenting, Bob was the purveyor of “Go to your room,” “Ask your mother,” and “It’s a beautiful day, want to play catch outside?” Other than that, he left the finer details to Helen, and she was marvelous at it.

Bob talked with the principal for a few more minutes, mostly about potential sports activities for Dash, and the principal gave him a few athletic-related pamphlets. The whole time, Bernie the teacher remained silent, only glaring at the wall and occasionally twitching. When Bob left the room, he cast a confused and slightly angry glance back at the odd, eccentric teacher before he exited. What a weird guy. If that was the kind of guy who was teaching his son, Bob shuddered to think what Dash might learn.

However, when Bob was halfway down the hallway outside, he heard a voice behind him. “Hey, Mr. Parr? Wait a second.”

The patriarch turned to see Bernie following him, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah?”

He didn’t know what he expected—an apology, maybe? Hopefully? But Bernie just said, “Tell me the truth. Is your son a super?”

For a moment, all Bob could do was stutter. “Uh—uh—” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and debating the merits of simply running away and moving towns again. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“Your son.” Bernie leaned closer to Bob, his eyes turned huge by his round glasses; Bob could clearly see the tiny red veins popping in them. “He moves like _lightning_. I got him on video. There’s no tack on my chair, your son vanishes for a tenth of a second, then there _is_ a tack. There’s only one explanation I know of.” He pointed at Bob. “You’re raising a superhero.”

“No!” Bob insisted, though his protest sounded weak even to his own ears. “Dash is just a normal kid. You’re crazy.”

“Save it. I’m no dunce. I know exactly what’s going on here.”

Bob was trapped, and he felt the urge to delicately inquire, “Um. Say he _was_ a super. And I admitted it. If that happened—completely hypothetically, of course—what would you be planning to do about it?” He had to gauge exactly how crazy this Bernie was.

To his shock, Bernie blinked and said, “What? Nothing. You think I want to extort you? No, I just want the truth. And I want tacks to stop appearing on my chair.”

Bob didn’t know what to think, and obviously, he didn’t a hundred percent trust this teacher. But Bernie’s words seemed genuine enough…

Bernie’s next outburst shocked him even more. “I’ve always been a huge super fan,” the teacher confessed. “Ever since I was a little kid. If your son was a super, it wouldn’t bother me. On the contrary, it would be great! I have nothing but respect for supers. It’s the _tacks_ I can’t stand.”

“I can understand that,” Bob managed to say. This was one of the weirdest conversations he’d ever had. Well, with a civilian, anyway.

“Look, pal, could you do me a favor? I get that your kid is probably feeling repressed and antsy from being forced to hide his powers, and I get that, but could you please get him in line? For my sake, and for the sake of his classmates?” Bernie pleaded.

Bob went on the defense again, angered by what Bernie had said. “Look, Dash’s classmates love him. He’s got plenty of friends, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but he’s disruptive and distractive!” Bernie argued. “Nobody can learn when he’s around!”

Bob drew himself up to his full height, which was not insignificant. “Well, maybe that’s your fault. Maybe you’re just not the stellar teacher you think you are.”

Bernie turned red and snapped back, “Well, maybe _your son_ isn’t as smart and distinguished as you think he is!”

Bob made an annoyed noise and turned to leave, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, I’m done with this conversation. You’re nuts, buddy. Maybe we’ll change schools. I don’t want my kids being taught by unstable flakes like you.” As he headed down the hallway, he called over his shoulder, “If my wife was here, she woulda kicked your ass.”

“If your wife was here, we might have actually got something _accomplished_ today!” the teacher screeched after him, but Bob was already gone.

 

Later that night, Bob was lying in bed with Helen. He explained tiredly what had happened earlier in the day, face reddening with anger as he described the nutcase teacher, and conveniently leaving out the part where the teacher realized Dash was a super. Helen listened quietly and absorbed his story.

When he was done, she said, “You gotta go back and apologize to him, Bob. That’s just it.”

“Wh—apologize!” Bob sat up, glaring at his wife. “What are you talking about? The guy’s a looney tune! I did nothing wrong except defending my son, and if that’s a crime—”

“It’s obviously _not_ a crime,” Helen said with patient irritation, “but don’t you get it? Because of your little spat with this Bernie, the teacher might give Dash an even harder time. We don’t want to fight this guy. He’s not your archnemesis, Bob. He’s just a teacher, and he’s trying his best, too.”

“No, honey, you don’t get it,” Bob argued. “If you’d have been there—”

“If I had been there, things would’ve gone a lot smoother, and I would _not_ have picked a fight with our son’s teacher. And I mean, come on, Bob. Dash is a super. And he’s _Dash_. Don’t you think any teacher would have a handful with him?”

Well, Dash _was_ Dash. That was true. Bob reluctantly admitted, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So, you think I should go apologize to him?”

Helen settled back down into a nest of pillows and said with a shrug, “It’s your call, Bob. If I were you, I would. We don’t want any more trouble.”

 

The next day at lunchtime, Bob again took some time off work—Mr. Huph yelled his ear off, and subtracted a day from Bob’s vacation time—and went down to the school again. He knocked on the fourth grade classroom door.

“Yeah, come in,” said a short, tired voice.

Bob entered. The room was empty, all desks unoccupied; the kids were outside for recess. Bernie sat at a wood-and-metal desk near the blackboard at the front of the room, busily scribbling on some papers. He looked up and seemed surprised to see Bob. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, uh…” Bob awkwardly shuffled into the room. “I just wanted to, y’know, apologize for my conduct yesterday. I wasn’t very friendly with you, and that’s my fault. I just hope you won’t take it out on Dash.”

Bernie gave Bob a hard stare. “What do you take me for? Of course I’m not gonna punish a kid just because his dad is a schmuck.”

“Er, well, that’s good. So, no hard feelings?”

“Sure. Is there anything else, Mr. Parr?”

“Uh, no, I think that’s it. Thanks.” Bob turned to leave, but was stopped by Bernie’s voice.

“Uh, Mr. Parr… could I ask you a question?” he said hesitantly.

Bob turned back around, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, shoot.”

“What exactly are Dash’s powers?”

The Parr patriarch blinked, unsure of how to answer. On one hand, it was pretty clear that Bernie knew Dash was a super at this point, but at the other hand, Bob had yet to officially confirm it. And if he did, there was no going back…

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want,” Bernie said hurriedly, seeing Bob’s discomfort.

Bob sighed. Oh, well. If things went screwy, the NSA would just come in and erase the teacher’s memory. No harm no foul.

“He’s a speedster. Like his grandfather before him.” Bob couldn’t help but allow a little bit of pride into his voice, and his chest slightly puffed. The Parr family was a dynasty of supers, and Bob’s father—endowed with super speed, strength, and laser vision—had been known as “Captain Phenomenal” back forty or fifty years ago, when the golden age of superheroes was still going strong.

To Bob’s surprised, Bernie gasped and said, “Was his grandfather Captain Phenomenal?”

Bob nodded, impressed by Bernie’s perception. “But how did you know?”

“Well, he was a speedster, too—and you both look just like him, with that blonde hair. I was the world’s biggest fan of him, back in my day,” Bernie sighed, seeming to sink into old memories. “Had all his posters up on my wall. Watched every interview. And all the battle footage, too.”

Bob was growing excited. A fan of Captain Phenomenal! He’d always been immensely proud of his father and family legacy, and to meet someone who also appreciated said legacy was really something special. “So,” he asked enthusiastically, “did you see the battle with the—”

“Giant mutated squid monster? I read the book about that fight.” A smile was growing on Bernie’s face as he remembered. “It lasted for five straight hours. Oh, I remember so clearly. And I remember Matter Woman was fighting with him, too. She was my second favorite super. After the Captain, of course.” Bernie looked at him curiously. “Say, you were Captain Phenomenal’s son—you ever meet Matter Woman?”

Bob grinned. “My mother.”

“Your mother!” Bernie looked like he was going to faint. “Holy Christ! I had no idea they were married! This sure is a hell of a family. Were you an active super, too?”

“Yup! I was—”

“Don’t tell me. I’ll guess.” He squinted, held up his hands and looked at Bob through a square formed of his index fingers and thumbs. “Mr. Incredible,” he guessed.

“That was me,” Bob smiled, knowing full well that he shouldn’t be admitting this stuff—this was the kind of thing both Rick Dicker and his wife would strangle him over—but he couldn’t help himself. Bernie’s obvious enthusiasm was infectious. “I was active for ten years,” he revealed. “From ’37 to ’47. I stopped, uh…” He counted on his fingers, unable to remember the exact number. “… _fifteen_ end-of-the-world plots,” he finally said proudly.

“Oh, I know all about it,” said Bernie excitedly. The twitchy, paranoid and angry version of the teacher was altogether gone, revealing an earnest and friendly persona that Bob hadn’t met before. “I followed your moves like a hawk. My favorite was your battle with Baron Von Ruthless in ’45. God, that was a great show! And that monologue…” He laughed.

Bob laughed, too, a big belly laugh as he remembered. “The monologue! Oh, Christ, that thing lasted for twenty minutes. I was starting to get leg cramps. Of course, Von Ruthless was known for his monologues. That was kind of his thing. And Lord knows he did a hundred of ’em that didn’t end up on TV. I could tell you stories…”

Bernie’s huge smile was genuine. “Oh, please do!”

So Bob did.

 

Helen would kill him if she knew.

That was in the back of Bob’s mind every time he met with Bernie Kropp. He started hanging out with the teacher on the regular, lying to his wife that he was out with Lucius Best, their mutual friend and fellow super. Instead, he was with Bernie. In restaurants: fancy ones, greasy spoons, cafés, holes-in-the-wall. In bowling alleys. Sitting on the bench in parks. Chilling in the local mall’s cafeteria.

Bob almost felt like he was cheating on Helen, and, in a way, he was. If Helen knew that Bob had spilled all their family secrets to a civilian, no one would ever find Bob’s corpse. But, again, Bob couldn’t help himself. It was just so fantastic to have an actual super fan to talk to—someone who know the ins and outs of superherohood, someone who had opinions, who Bob could debate with, reminisce with. He could do all that with Lucius, sure, but Lucius wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as Bernie was. Bernie had a sort of wide-eyed excitement about everything Bob said, and they never ran out of things to talk about, and there was something so prideful and great about impressing a civilian like this. It had been a long, long time since any civilian had been a fan of Mr. Incredible.

There was another pleasant side effect of their friendship: Dash stopped reporting problems at school, the principal stopped calling, and Helen was delighted. “You must’ve really apologized to that guy,” she remarked happily to Bob after a month of no calls from the principal.

“Yup,” Bob said cheerfully, but inside he was feeling guilty. If Helen knew…

But she wouldn’t know, he told himself. Not now, not ever. And Bernie was trustworthy: Bob knew that. By this point, he’d been hanging out with Bernie for a month straight, and the teacher had never shown himself to be anything less than worthy of Bob’s confidence, and he was respectful of the fact that Bob’s family deserved privacy and secrecy.

One particular Friday evening, Bob and Bernie had met up for dinner at a small Mexican restaurant known as Cosmic Cathy’s. Over plates of tacos, they talked. Bernie had been monologuing passionately about the legal status of superheroes for the past ten minutes.

“…and if you guys were legalized again, I think it would save the government money. I mean, think about it: most supers have a day job, and their job fighting crime is just volunteer work. That means that heroes can replace paid police officers who would be doing essentially the same thing, but without the added benefits of superpowers. It’s a win-win. Imagine how much money the government would save if they just took all cops off the street at night and let the supers do their thing instead. Billions, probably! Not to mention—”

Bob watched as Bernie talked, and felt something odd start within him. During all the time they’d been hanging out together, Bob had started to notice the little things. The way Bernie clenched his hands on the table when he was passionately arguing something… the way his face turned red when Bob complimented him on his extensive superhero knowledge… the way he became so animated when he was talking about a subject important to him… the way his glasses left little indentations on the side of his face when he took them off… the way his ass looked in those tight little black khakis he tended to wear… the way his head was shaped, like a perfect, beautiful football…

Bob couldn’t have known it, but Bernie was starting to have similar thoughts about the muscular superhero. Only Bernie’s thoughts had started long before Bob’s. He was so shocked, pleased and embarrassed to actually have a friendly relationship with _Mr. Incredible!_ And it was so much more than that. Not only was he Mr. Incredible, one of the most powerful and awesome supers from the old days, but he was a great guy, an interesting guy, a kind and loving family man, a guy with so many awe-inspiring stories to tell—not only about his own prowess, but about his kids, too. Bernie had always disliked Dash, but it was near-impossible to hate the kid, the way Bob talked about him with such pride. His daughter and younger son, too; Bob gushed about them, their powers especially. And he had so many stories about the glory days, his awesome battles and victories and even his defeats. He wasn’t the slow-witted lug that Bernie had thought, back when they first met. And it didn’t hurt that he was thicker than a tree trunk in all the places that mattered… Bernie flushed to even think about it. Lord, those calves.

When Bernie was finished talking about super legalization, he turned red to see the way Bob was looking at him. So carefully, with such an odd look in his eyes, as though Bob were seeing and considering something he’d never seen or considered before. And Bernie thought there might even have been lust in those eyes… Oh, no, there couldn’t be. What a stupid idea!

But Bernie was right. Bob was indeed feeling a stirring in his loins, a pleasant warmth in his vast chest. The force of it surprised even him.

 _No, I’m in love with Helen!_ he told himself fiercely. _I’m happily married!_ But he couldn’t deny what he felt for Bernie. And to be honest… these days, his marriage with Helen was a little stale, and she really didn’t understand him like Bernie did, and they couldn’t talk for hours the way he could talk with Bernie, and she didn’t wear tight little khakis like Bernie did, and she didn’t have such a charming bald spot, or such a gorgeous, broom-shaped cookie duster of a mustache on her beautiful face… Bob caught himself wanting to feel that mustache brush across various parts of his bare skin, and a shudder ran through him. No, he could not deny the powerful emotions he was feeling for his friend of little over a month. And from the way the red-faced Bernie was looking at him now, Bob quickly realized that Bernie felt the same.

“Uh,” Bernie said quietly, turning even redder, “you wanna get out of here?”

Oh, so they both understood exactly what was going on. A spark had passed between them, an exquisite spark of pure love and attraction, and now, it could not be denied.

Bob stood up, jostling the table with his prodigious stomach. (Bob wanted to lose weight, but he didn’t know that Bernie thought his extra pounds were incredibly sexy. Like a blonde, tubby, super-strength-powered grizzly bear of love.)

“I’ll get the bill,” mumbled the super, overcome with lust.

 

What happened that night was a revelation. They returned to Bernie’s apartment, where the teacher lived alone—lucky for him, because the sounds of lovemaking that emanated from the bedroom that evening would have disturbed any potential roommates. Bob was forced to rein in his super strength. For the past fifteen years of marriage to Helen, he hadn’t had to hold back, because her elasticity protected her from his prowess. But Bernie wasn’t a super, and was made of more delicate stuff. So Bob held back as best he could, gentle and communicative with his smaller, skinnier partner. Nonetheless, the lovemaking that occurred that night could only be described as passionate and never-ending, an all-consuming sinkhole of romance, ardor and ecstasy. The love they shared transcended the physical and entered into the spiritual realm. Bob had never felt so connected to another human being.

Later that night they lay entwined in the sheets, covered in sweat. Bob was the big spoon, and Bernie was breathing hard in his arms, still recovering from the throes of their passion.

When Bernie spoke, to Bob’s surprise, his voice was raspy and choked with guilt. “What about your wife?”

Bob laughed uncomfortably. “What about her?” But inside, he was feeling the same turmoil. Despite the ecstasy they had shared that evening, Bob still loved Helen, and he felt immensely terrible about betraying her like this. The mother of his children! What was he thinking?

But when he looked at the slender form of Bernie curled in his arms, bald spot shining sensuously in the dim light from the bedside lamp, Bob could not regret his choice any longer. With a contented sigh, he snuggled closer to his paramour. “Don’t think about that right now. I’ll handle it.”

“Okay,” said Bernie trustingly, pressing his back closer to Bob’s chest. The two fell asleep like that, curled up in a tangle of love.

 

Their affair only lasted two weeks. But it was a beautiful two weeks.

Bob fell more and more in love with Bernie every day, and his guilt over betraying Helen grew with every day, too, until he could barely even look her in the eye. Helen grew suspicious of his behavior. How could she not? He was acting so distant, unable to look at her, barely able to speak with her, and he was retreating from the house almost every evening to “bowl” with Lucius. Only, Lucius never actually came over to meet Bob…

Finally, Helen grew fed up. She dialed Lucius’s phone number.

“Hey, Lucius? Hi there, it’s Helen. Listen. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Bob, and I just wanted to ask you if there’s something wrong with him. Because he’s been acting all funny with me, and…” She scoffed, speaking these next words with bitterness and twisting the phone cord around her fingers. “I think at this point, you know him better than I do.”

Lucius sounded confused. “Uh, sorry, Helen, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen Bob in months.”

Helen’s heart caught in her throat and, for a few seconds, she was choked. Finally she managed to say, “Okay. Thanks anyway, Lucius. I’ll see you.”

She replaced her phone on its cord and stood silently for a few minutes, weighing her options, deciding what to do next.

 

When Bob next left his home to meet Bernie Kropp at a local eatery, he couldn’t have known his wife Helen was tailing him. Helen was a supremely careful stalker, light of foot and economical of movement, intelligent and wily. She was able to follow Bob straight to the café without him knowing. She parked outside on the street and watched, her eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion, as Bob sat in the window seat with… was that their son’s teacher, that weirdo Bernie? But why the hell would Bob be meeting _him_ every day? And what’s worse, why would Bob keep that a secret?

Bob and Bernie talked and laughed over two cups of tea, and Helen watched. When Bob got up and retreated further into the restaurant, Helen assumed her husband had to use the bathroom. She got out of her car and quickly entered the café, the door’s bells jingling as she opened it, making sure to enter in such a way that Bernie didn’t recognize her. She went to the back, past the counter and all the patrons, and opened the bathroom door, slipping inside before her husband could protest.

He quickly zipped his fly and turned around, assuming a defensive stance, as he heard the door open. “Hey, wh—”

His eyes widened as he recognized Helen, looking like he’d been slapped. He was speechless.

Helen stared coolly at him. “So just what the hell is going on here? Why have you been lying to me about who you’re meeting? Lucius says he hasn’t seen you in months.”

“I—” He was struck mute, fumbling for something, anything, to say.

Helen spoke again. “Spill it, Bob. I’m not going to put up with you lying to me. Not anymore. Tell me why you had to lie about who you’re meeting.”

Suddenly, Bob found the words, and realized what he had to say. It would likely get him strangled by Helen, but it was better than admitting to having an affair. _Far_ better.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he stuttered, turning red with genuine shame. “It’s just—he guessed that Dash is a super. And once he guessed _that_ , well, I figured there’s no point in hiding anything else from him, either. So I told him everything. And it turns out, he’s a huge super fan! We’ve been chatting about the glory days all this time, and I just… I didn’t want you to…” He cut himself off, turning pale at the furious expression on his wife’s face.

“You told him our secret? You told him about our kids?” She said the words slowly, but with such controlled and deliberate anger that Bob couldn’t respond, once again struck mute.

Finally he said meekly, “I’m sorry, honey.” He didn’t know what else he could say.

Without a single further word to Bob, Helen stalked from the bathroom, and she stalked from the restaurant, and she was gone. Bob was left alone in the bathroom, choking on air.

 

When he returned home later that night, he expected a maelstrom, but Helen was strangely normal. She bustled around their dining room table, placing reheated leftovers, forks and knives, and napkins at everyone’s spot. Bob sat at the head of the table, silent and chastened, trying to figure out what to say.

He finally spoke. “Uh, Helen, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it, Bob.” She placed a Tupperware container of meatloaf next to Dash’s spot, as that was his favorite, and hurried back to a nearly counter to grab a platter of lasagna.

This made Bob quite wary. Helen seemed totally calm, as though nothing was wrong. And something wasn’t right about that. “You sure, honey?” he ventured, not wanting to make things worse.

Some of her anger bled through; she slammed the lasagna platter down on the table, causing the knives and forks to clatter. “It’s _fine_ , Bob. I just never want to talk about it again. You fucked up, and now it’s over. Okay?”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicion ignited. “What do you mean, it’s over?”

“I mean, we’re not going to talk about it again. That’s what I mean. Please don’t bring it up again tonight. I want to have a peaceful dinner.” She returned to the kitchen to fetch more food, and Bob was alone in the room, with a sick pit in his stomach, as though something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

 

Bernie didn’t show up to their next meeting. After Helen had left the café, Bob had returned to the table and pretended that nothing was wrong, and he and Bernie had arranged to meet in three days at a fancy downtown restaurant—a meeting which Bob knew full well that he might have to cancel, depending on Helen’s fury. But he didn’t cancel, and when he told Helen he was “going out with Lucius” that day, she didn’t respond, just pressed her lips together and waved goodbye.

Something was definitely wrong.

Bob waited for an hour at the restaurant, and finally had to accept that Bernie wasn’t coming. He began to honestly wonder if Helen had done something crazy, like murdered the teacher. The very idea sent a chill down Bob’s spine. But no, Helen wouldn’t do something like that!

…would she?

The next day, Bob took another hour off work—Huph screamed his ear off, and deducted a week from his vacation time—to visit the school. During recess, with the distant sounds of playing kids echoing in his ears, Bob pushed open the door to Bernie’s classroom… and found the teacher sitting there at his desk, perfectly safe, head bent over a pile of paperwork. Bob heaved a massive sigh of relief.

“Bernie! I didn’t know what had happened to you!”

Bernie looked up, and the expression on his face was confusing to Bob: cool and unfriendly. “Can I help you?”

“Uh… you stood me up for our last meeting,” Bob said awkwardly, wondering exactly what Helen had done, “and I was just wondering—”

 “Oh, are you a parent?” Bernie pushed his glasses up his nose and looked quite apologetic. “I’m sorry, I’m always terribly disorganized this time of year. If we had arranged a parent-teacher meeting and I forgot about it, I’ll be happy to arrange another one. That’s my fault, I’m sorry.”  

“No, Bernie, I…” But Bob cut himself off. He knew exactly what was happening here, and it made him feel like he was being sucked into a black hole.

“Never mind,” he said tiredly, suddenly exhausted. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Kropp.”

He left the room, and a confused-looking Bernie, feeling like a thousand-pound weight had settled on his back.

 

“You called Dicker,” he said simply to Helen.

She was sitting on their couch in their living room, reading a magazine. His wife looked up at Bob, blinking slowly at him. “Of course I called Dicker,” she said, as though he was an idiot. “That’s what we do when our cover gets blown. You know that better than anyone.”

“Our cover _wasn’t_ blown!” he shouted, looming over her. “I trusted him! He was fine, Helen! Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, you trusted him,” she said, unfazed. “That’s great to know. Well, I damn well don’t trust you, Bob. Not after this. This is ridiculous. I don’t know exactly how much you told him, but I do know that, if he did have malicious intentions, he could’ve destroyed us. Me. You. Our children, Bob. Do you ever _think_?” She opened her magazine once again, staring down at it as though Bob wasn’t even there. “Of _course_ I called Dicker,” she repeated. “And you better not make the same mistake again.”

Bob just stared down at his wife, fury mixed with guilt mixed with shame mixed with a terrible, bone-deep regret. He knew she was right, of course: he had screwed up royally, and Helen had only done the right thing in response. And now, Bernie had forgotten all about him, and would never remember him again, all their loving memories sucked away by Dicker’s machines, while Bob would forever live with knowing what he’d lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Discord made me do it.


End file.
